The Price
by TrivialQueen
Summary: In order to save him, she had to first betray him. AU. Cromwell/Elizabeth. Dark, explicit content.
1. How Far

The Price

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Warning: This piece is AU, it contains OCs and a strong element of sexual violence, if any of these distress you, please turn back now. _If you are ever a victim of Sexual violence, please, contact your local Rape Victim Advocacy Program. There is no shame in getting help.

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Chapter I: How Far

He did not want to see her, he did not want to speak with her, or hear her plea. He wanted nothing to do with her or her heretic of a husband. The snake in his Eden. And yet when he made the liar a Baron, he'd given him – and his wife certain rights, ones yet to be striped by a Bill of Attainder. And so,

"Baroness Cromwell." Was announced.

She entered the room quietly, with none of the vivacity of their first meeting years ago. Then she wore simple clothes in bright colors her smile more beautiful than any ornament. Today her clothes were rich but the colors were dark, nothing but sobriety in her expression. She was thinner, her face held shadows, eyes once a deep sapphire were now a tired, watery blue, the glow had been leached from her skin. And yet, he watched her breasts swell full against her décolletage, her figure was as pleasing as it ever was. Her lips were still deliciously full. She was still a beauty, an unhappy one, but a beauty none the less.

"Your Majesty." She breathed sinking into a curtsey, head submissively lowered.

"Mistress," He said vitriolic. "You are here on behalf of your _husband_ I suspect."

"I am." She said and dropped to her knees before him, her hands folded as if at prayer.

"Most merciful sovereign, My King, Your Majesty, have mercy upon my husband, my poor, miserable, most unworthy husband and your loyal servant." Henry felt his member fill at her position, the proximity of her full, moist lips to his half hard cock was a tantalizing display. The Baroness was a beautiful woman, one the Baron did not deserve nor could possibly satisfy. And yet Cromwell loved his wife more than anything, even a short acquaintance with the man was enough to discover that. She was that which he valued most, and she was on her knees before him.

"Most loyal servant?" Henry spat, "You husband is not but the most black of villains. Dishonest, unfaithful heretic, lying, cheating Knave who violated my trust and abused all that I gave him whilst I was taken in by his lies. He was loyal to his own agenda and nothing more. His punishment fits his crimes." A quaking came upon her that did nothing but inflame the Kings senses. The power he had was an aphrodisiac above all others.

"Death would be a relief, not a punishment."

"What?" Henry demanded taking the woman's jaw with a bruising force, pulling her face up, daring her to contradict him again. She swallowed he could feel the muscles of her throat contract against his hand, her neck vibrated as she spoke.

"The pain of death would be brief and finite. You want to punish Thomas, make me pay; taking his life would be brief and minor in comparison to taking other things." Henry jerked her to stand, hand still wrapped around the pale column of her neck.

"Go on." He growled.

"Taking his influence, take his power; banish him from court, bar him from politics. Brand him a latter-day Cassandra and forbid him from writing. Death is quick; preventing him from participating in politics would be hell on earth for him. Please," she whispered, "Take his politics, but not his life." Henry looked into the eyes of the heretic's loyal wife; they begged him with all of her soul. _Take his politics, take his wife._ A cruel idea curled his lips and turned in his mind.

"You love your husband Mistress?"

"With my whole heart." He leaned in a breath from her bow mouth, hand ghosting from her neck to dip a finger between her breasts.

"Then how far will you go to save him?"

***

"His Royal Highness King Henry VIII." Constable Anthony Kingston announced, stepping into the tiny Tower Cell of the treacherous heretic Thomas Cromwell. For his part the King's former first minister felt his heart stop as his Lord and Master appeared in the door along with his wife.

"Your – your Majesty!" he breathed, hand to his chest, ensuring his heart remained in the cavity and not his throat as he bowed.

"Thomas Cromwell, you have been convicted of heresy and usurped and deliberately misused royal power." The King boomed as if the voice of God himself was sentencing him to death. The King's broad hand squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder, eliciting a small wince from his beloved. "The punishment for this is Death, as decided by a court of your peers," Cromwell felt the blood drain from his face, "But your wife has convinced me to commute your sentence." The King removed his hand from Elizabeth's neck, from beneath his palm a sight appeared that robbed Thomas of breath. He did not hear of his banishment, he did not register the King's smug exit. He knew nothing save for the mark at the junction of her neck and her collar. The red brown mark, the size of a shilling caused by the nipping and sucking of a lover.

"Elizabeth?"

***

"_It is your choice Mistress – Block or Bed?"  
"Your choice."  
"Block or Bed?"  
"Block or Bed?"  
"Block or…"_

The air had been sucked from the coach; it was too much to endure. The silence blanketed over them all like rocks added to an accused man's chest. Gregory had tried to fill the vacuum, but his mother could not look at him or his father, and his father could not take his eyes from the mark of another on her neck. The glowing brand that was the cause of the painful, penetrating silence. Tragedy hung in the air undisturbed.

Frain House was mostly black when the carriage arrived late that night, the few lit windows singing through the darkness like a siren. The ride would soon be over.

"Father!" Gregory's wife Elizabeth, Bette to her family as her mother – in – law was Bess, awaited their return in the foyer, large with child she had remained behind as her husband and her mother in law went to fight for their family. She rushed into Thomas' weary arms, kissing both stubbled cheeks, so happy to have him home and whole. Thomas hugged her back with all his might before placing a large hand to her swollen middle, feeling the kick of his third grandchild, the simple joy of living to see it born a blessing unlike any other.

"How are you,Bette, my child? And the babe?"

"Both delighted and relieved to have you with us again." Elizabeth said sincerely, "Henry and Frances will be so glad to see you."

"Where are they now?" Thomas asked hurriedly looking around as if the toddlers would pop out of the wood work and attach themselves to his legs at any moment.

"In bed, Father mine, it is after eleven o'clock."

"Good, good, I… I do not want for them to see me like this." He gestured to his unshaven face and unwashed clothes, he looked older, haggard, nothing like the great, handsome man he once was. Elizabeth nodded silently, her children were not but babes but he was a proud man, unwilling to show his weakness to even a child of three. There was as moment.

"Well," Gregory finally said breaking the uneasy silence, "I am sure a real bed is calling you Father, shall we retire?" Elizabeth watched as her mother in law jumped at Gregory's light touch on her arm as he offered to escort her to her chambers. She shied away from his helpful hand as if it were a fist. Her face and neck grew hot, the mark along her clavicle glowing, her eyes finding the floor to be the most interesting view in England. The second Baroness Cromwell felt her brows knit together in concern at the uncharacteristic behavior of her senior. But her confusion could not last, her father offered her his arm and they made their way – silent once again – to the Frain House guest chambers.

The door had barely closed behind them before Thomas turned to her.

"I am not yet cold in my grave and you are with another?" His voice cracked, large tears of betrayal welling in his lifeless eyes. "I had rather died believing you loved me than lived to know the truth! For how long Elizabeth? For how long?" Tears over took him and he sank upon the large bed, a strangled sob muffled by his hands.

"Thomas, Thomas, please," Elizabeth whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks like rain on a window pane, "Please believe me. I love you." She was desperate for his arms, to feel that he was with her, that he loved her, that he was real but the rest; the rest was just a dream. She wanted to wake from her nightmare, open her eyes and find herself at home, Thomas snoring as he always did, everything right in her world. But the pain, the pain told her that this was not a dream.

"Go. Just. Go." He was sending her out, pushing her way when all she wanted was to be held close. He would never hold her again. She had saved his life.

And ended her own.

***

"Did you hear that?" Elizabeth asked Gregory as they readied for bed, the sound of wood slamming against wood echoing down the hall. Gregory paused, ear tilted towards their closed bedchamber door, he then shrugged a lean shoulder and slid into bed.

"It was probably my parents," He said passively, "They always had a very… healthy… relationship. I can only imagine their congress after an ordeal like this." He paused, shuttered, and shook his head, "On second thought, I don't really want to." He pulled his wife to his side and they bedded down for the night. "It is nothing to worry about, Love."

"If you say so, dear." But as he snuffed the candle she felt intuition and the babe kick. Something was not right. She could feel it.


	2. Do Not Do as I Have Done

The Price

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.

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Chapter II: Do Not Do as I Have Done

_His large, bare arm kept her breasts pressed into the rough wood of the table while his hand tangled painfully in her snarled, unbound hair, yanking it up by the roots so he could nip at her neck, breath tainted with wine, teeth searching for blood. He bucked her hips into the sharp edge of the table with a bruising force as he pounded his member into her again and again, bringing her nothing but a chafing pain. Her eyes closed tight she tried to endure. Tried to call happier times to mind. Her husband's smile, his uninhibited laugh, their first kiss. Anything but the slick feel of the erupted boil on the back of her thigh and the pain deep within her sex as he thrust into her dry until she felt raw._

"_Say it," he hissed in her ear, voice laced with poison, "say my name."_

"_H…Henry." She whimpered, he yanked her head back – hard, she could feel her neck popping from the assault._

"_Louder. Say it louder, *_scream*. _Tell the world who's fucking you!"_

"_Henry."_

"_Again!"_

"_Henry!" his free hand came down hard against the side of her bottom, flesh cracking against flesh like the sound of a musket's fire._

"_LOUDER!"_

"_HENRY!"_

The sting of hot water and a rough rag did nothing to remove the pervasive feeling of _him_ on her, no matter how hard she scrubbed; her nails could not dig him from her flesh, he haunted her, hung on her. But that did not stop her from trying. He was in her head and she'd be damned if she let any trace of him remain on her skin. But the more she tried the more she failed. It had been a dream, only a dream. Except it had been real.

"Mother!" the shocked exclamation from behind her caused Elizabeth to jump, her sudden, wild movement upsetting the pot over the fire, hot water scalding her bare flesh.

Bette watched as her Mother – in – Law sank onto the bench and laid her head on the kitchen table a sob cutting from her chest, her bare chest. The babe had, as it often did, Bette too uncomfortable to sleep, restless and hungry it had lead her to the kitchen at three in the morning. She had every expectation of being alone, as she often was during these night walks. She had never expected to find her husband's mother by the fire, naked as birth ferociously scrubbing the inside of her thighs. And now, and now the great woman, her father's princess and her husband's knight was sobbing into her arms, breasts bare, sagging with sorrow, shaking slightly, sadly. The younger woman could not but stare at her elder.

Her blonde curls were up in a messy bun, the curtain of hair lifted to reveal her bare back and upper arms, dark bruises marring the otherwise pale skin. The mark on her neck looked fresh and painful, as did the five red welts on her flank. She looked as if she had been through hell. Gregory claimed his parents had a very healthy relationship, an active relationship, but that was not the story Elizabeth's body told. She did not look as if she had been with a lover; she looked as if she had been in a fight. Her father in law was many things, Bette knew, and above all he was gentle with the ones he loved. He would never hurt his wife; his hands would not bring about such a display.

Grabbing the first pitcher she could lay her hands on Bette hurriedly waddled to her elder's side.

"I'm so sorry, Elizabeth, I am so unuse to others being around at this hour." Daughter spoke to mother, trying to sooth the scalded flesh, but to no avail, Elizabeth pushed her hands away and curled tightly in on herself, a tight ball of limbs and sorrow. Elizabeth the younger could not process what was going on around her, and so for a heart wrenching moment she watched a great woman fight to take control of herself. And in time she did, slightly, enough to speak as she wrapped her dressing gown tightly around her.

"Bette," She whispered, reaching out a slim hand to take her daughter by the arm, her blue eyes meeting brown ones like a river met the shore. "You must promise me, promise me that you will not do as I have done." There was heart break in her voice, Bette felt her eyes widen.

"What is it? What have you done?" But it was too late, she was gone.


	3. Monster

The Price

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.

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Chapter III: Monster

Bette tossed and turned all night, long after the babe inside her settled down for the night, her mother – in – law's words ringing in her head. _Do not do as I have done._ What could she have possibly done, it had sent her into hysterics that night, her body told a fearsome tale, and yet, for the life of her Elizabeth did not understand what was going on. With the dawn the babe rose and so too did Elizabeth, resolving to get to the bottom of all these bad feelings one way or another.

"Lord God, heavenly Father, bless us and these Your gifts which we receive from Your bountiful goodness, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen" Father Thomas said the blessing over their fast breaking meal with added reverence, he was most blessed to be alive to share with them and he knew it. They all knew it. Even her child, the one not yet born seemed to know of the importance of the moment and remained still.

"Amen." The table said and the meal began. In silence. It continued in silence. Gregory, it seemed had given up on getting a conversation going amongst himself and his parents. His parents, had spoken nary a words to each other and only the most minimal of greetings to the others. With nothing to occupy their mouths with the meal was, at least, mercifully short.

"Gramma!" Henry exclaimed running full tilt to Elizabeth after they finished their meal. At three years old it was a little wobbly but still amazingly fast.

"H-Hen-" Elizabeth choked, unable to say the name of her eldest grandchild. She pulled him tight to her breast and hugged him although the motion was stiff, forced, as if she was torn between the love she should feel for him, her grandchild and an overwhelming force pushing her away from him. Her discomfort was blessedly short for a soon as the boy was out of her arms he was in to Thomas's.

"Popa! Popa! Up!" Popa complied lifting him high in the air before swinging him down, pulling him tightly to his chest.

"My boy! My Henry." Gregory beamed as he watched his father and his son interact, they would have so many years together to come, little Henry had much to learn from his grandfather. Elizabeth's attention remained on her mother – in – law, the once affectionate woman now as Lot's wife, petrified by a small child. She turned to her father in law, who once was unable to look at his wife, now saw straight through her. Both looked tired, as if they had not slept in a year. Father Thomas was dressed in his customary black, but it was more somber than usual, as if he mourned instead of rejoiced his life. Elizabeth, while never one to dress as a whore had never been more covered in all of her daughter's memory. She wore a high white collar and a dress of drab beige not her signature red or dazzling blues. Her hair was in the same loose knot as the night before, for a woman who once took pride in her appearance she now looked as if she'd refused a maid entrance to her chambers. The more Bette observed the more she did not like what she saw.

The day went by in sprints and stops, at times, when Gregory and Thomas discussed business, locked away in the study, the day progressed almost like normal. While men discussed the estate Elizabeth and Elizabeth played with the children. Bette watched as her mother – in – law, on the outside was the same as ever, showering young Henry and baby Francis with love and affection, she expertly perched babe on her hip as toddler told her a story. But in her eyes, daughter could see conflict, parts of the kind, wise blue eyes wanted to run, flee, cry; the emotions swirling. But they were being suppressed, suppressed by sheer force of will. She was making herself stay. But she couldn't make herself say Henry's name.

And then there were parts that drug on forever, when time stopped, the tension mounted until it smothered the occupants. It did not ease until Elizabeth was stricken with a headache, undoubtedly due to the stress of the room, and retired to her room. Elizabeth the younger watched her senior leave, defeated woman she was. The Cromwells were anything but normal, but this was abnormal – even for them.

***

Bette Cromwell rapped lightly on the door to her parent's champers. Bess had not been at dinner, nor had she sent for a tray. This had the young woman concerned; to her knowledge her mother had not eaten a full meal all day. She was drawn, exhausted looking and suddenly very thin. Thomas' imprisonment had been hard on them all but with his release did not come the expected joy.

"If yer looking for the Lady Cromwell, Lady Elizabeth, she won't be in there." Elizabeth turned to look at the speaker, Lady Joan Wynters.

The Lady Joan was a stately, melancholy matron, at times Elizabeth wondered if she was not in fact the famous Joan Larke in hiding. They said that the non-cannon wife of the cardinal died of a broken heart after her lover but there was something about Mistress Wynters' eyes that made Bette wonder if she did not live on.

"What do you mean Mistress Wynters?" Elizabeth asked.

"This morning when I came to ready the Lady for the day Master Cromwell said that the Missus was ill and was sleeping in another chamber to get uninterrupted rest." Elizabeth looked at her maid, who looked back, neither believed the story.

"Was Mother ill when you attended her?"

"I did not attend her." Elizabeth blinked, she knew that Joan was many things, incompetent not one of them. "Once I _found_ where she was staying she would not allow me entrance, she was dressed when I arrived and she would allow me noting – not even to brush her hair." Joan reached out and placed one cool, firm, aged hand on Elizabeth's dainty shoulder, they were speaking woman to woman. "I am worried Elizabeth, this is not Beth, this is not the woman I remember, the woman I became friends with when our children were young. She is sick. She needs someone." Elizabeth nodded.

"What room is she in?"

***

Bette could hear the sobs as she reached the door and they broke her heart. Her instincts had been right – the ones she had prayed were wrong. Something had happened to break her family.

"Mother," Elizabeth called softly, "Mother, please, let me in."

"No." Bette was all in favor of personal space, between her parents and her siblings she learned very early that any moment you could be alone was something to be cherished, but this was moment that she would ruin. No was not an answer. Bette pulled a key from her pocket, one she had detoured through her husband's study to retrieve, just in case this was the situation she would encounter. Slowly she opened the door.

The room was dim, the only light what came filtering through the curtains closed tightly across the windows. Elizabeth the elder, sat compressed tightly on her bed, face wedged between her knees, as small as she could be. Elizabeth the younger shut the door quickly and rushed to her mother - in – law's side, only to be cut off by her rasping, shaking voice.

"Elizabeth, leave."

"No, not until you tell me what is wrong." Bette watched as her mother was able to produce more tears, a feat she doubted possible. What in the world could cause one woman such pain? "I will not leave until you tell me what troubles you so, until you tell me what I can do to help."

"There is no help for a monster like me." It was a whisper, Bette had surly not heard, nor understood.

"Monster? You are the slayer of monsters!" Elizabeth shook her head violently.

"I am one of Satan's own, I am a betrayer."

"Betrayer? I do not understand, who have you betrayed?" Bette took another few steps forward, Elizabeth looked up, her tearstained face the most painful thing to behold on the planet.

"I have betrayed my vows. She choked, "I was with another."

"No."


	4. Semper Fidelis

The Price

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
**WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT. **_Read at your own risk, but don't say I didn't warn you._

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Chapter IV: Semper Fidelis

He sat alone, the room he should be sharing with his wife dark, empty, and lonesome, the weight of his wedding ring heavy on his heart finger. He stared at it, watching it flicker in the solitary candle light, _Semper fidelis. _Always faithful. He had worn the ring for so many years that the inscription – their inscription had faded. As had the vow. He closed his eyes, lashes locking the tears away, he had shed far too many. He had thought he had shed them all but there seemed to be an infinite amount of sorrow in the world, and only a finite amount of love. Love. He had been so in love with her when they exchanged their rings; so young, so poor. She had been his everything and he had been so in love he did not realize things could ever changed. He loved her from the moment he saw her after he graduated school, when he returned to Putney a man, no longer a boy incapable of anything but the lust of adventure, but a man ready and willing to open his heart to another. She had stolen that open heart with her honest smile and clear blue eyes. He loved her then, and Christ in heaven, he loved her now. Even now after she had broken that once open heart into to pieces more numerous than grains of sand by the sea. Even now after he learned that her smile held not but lies and her eyes were carefully guised, all smoke and mirrors, a window to a trick. He knew nothing of her soul though he had given her his own. They had been so happy then. But it seemed as if God did not want him to be happy.

He should have known. He should have realized that he would never achieve a lasting happiness. He should have learned when he lost his Margaret that he would never be able to keep any girl or woman, no matter how much he loved them. First Alexandria died, his beautiful, perfect Dria; she had died in his arms like a dove - hold too loosely it flies away, hold to tight and you bring about its demise. She was called away to God after only five short years, hardly a life. But they cried, they endured, they prayed and loved Gregory, a child of two at that time. They conceived again, Margaret did not survive the year; she too was taken from him after he gave his heart to her. It had only been a matter of time before Elizabeth would flee from him as well.

Had he not tried to please her? Had he not loved her with all he had? Provided her with everything that he could? Had she not been happy?

No.

It cut through him like an axe. How could she have been happy? Perhaps in the beginning he could have please her but in the end why should she have remained? She was beautiful, she was perfect, so full of life and yet saddled with a man such as he. Cold, ugly, distant. He never dance with her while they had the chance. He had gone to court and expected her to follow and then left her alone. He had worked; he had devoted himself to the King and in the process lost sight of what he had. He had taken her for granted, she deserved better. This lover, this man was treating her far better than he had, she was being worshiped as the Goddess she was. The way she should be worshiped. He had once been the priest of her alter but slowly stopped his devotion, visiting instead the temple of work and long nights. Communion with those he wished to impress, his sacrament was his agenda. Where did that leave his wife? It left her alone. It left her unloved. It left her with no choice but to leave him. It was so reasonable, so neat, so plain for him to see.

And yet he had to know, he needed to know, not the why, the bloody, painful obvious why, but the who? What was his name, what did he look like, who was he. What were the words he said, the ones Thomas had neglected all these years, what was the touch she truly wanted. If not his own then whose? He wanted to see the man who laid with his wife while he fell asleep at his desk, he wanted to meet the one who broke his faith in all those years. All those years he thought he was her own, her only.

He felt the dagger pierce his heart and turn, digging poisoned barbs into his soul. He was dead, dead inside. If only he was truly dead, had he died as he was supposed to have he would have died believing she loved him, believing in that beautiful promise of her fidelity. His tears could no longer be held in, nor could the bile in his throat. His head over a basin he purged himself, of his breakfast, of his soul. Love was only bitterness and lies. He shook; he could not stop the shaking. He could not still his body, he could not stop his mind, he could not but wish for death. And yet he had lived to see the day that the foundation he had built his life on crumble and fall.

He would give his soul to go back, to be able to hold her once again, to have not but sweat between them. For her to be his again. His in the way he had thought she was.

On the blood of Christ he loved her still. He would never stop loving her.

He fell to the floor unable to go on.

"Father, Father, please, wake up." Gregory's worried face swam before Thomas. He must've fallen asleep - still in a pile on the floor, physically, mentally, emotionally exhausted.

"Greg…" He whispered, his boy wrapping him in an embrace as if he had risen from the dead.

"What happened? Why are you on the floor?" With his son's help Thomas stood, his body stiff from the position, he was too old to be on the floor his joints declared with loud pops. He rubbed his still wet eyes with the back of his hand, the cool of her ring nearly sending him spiraling down once more. But he was not cold Cromwell for nothing; he clamped down on the hurt and looked with sadness at his boy. His very image, save for the parts that were his mother's. "Father what is going on?" It was a serious question and Gregory held his eye, it was a question he was going to have to answer. Answer even if it hurt him more than anything.

"Your mother and I are not as we once were."

"What?" It was the same thunderstruck expression of his mother. Thomas's voice broke.

"She has turned to another."

***

"No." Elizabeth the younger breathed. "No. I don't believe you. You would never." Elizabeth Senior whimpered.

"I did Bette, I did, I have betrayed Thomas, I have betrayed my husband. I was with another." Elizabeth took her mother's face in her hands and forced her to look at her, getting very close she spoke with conviction.

"I do. Not. Believe it. I have not been in this family long, I realize. I have much to learn still but I do know one thing, I learned it the first time we met. You love your husband. You love him in a way that words cannot begin to describe, in a way that the mind cannot comprehend. If I love Gregory half as much as you love Thomas you could never, ever, stray." Elizabeth tried to shake her head, close her eyes but her daughter held her fast.

"You don't understand!" her voice cracked.

"Then _make_ me understand. Tell me. Tell me everything." She pulled away and crossed to the door, Elizabeth held Elizabeth's eyes as she turned the lock. "I am not leaving until you tell me." Beth looked at Bette; Bette narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her expansive breast, slightly awkward considering the girth of her child.

Elizabeth folded her hands as if in prayer, elbows propped on her knees she rested her forehead against her crossed thumbs. She took a deep, shaking breath. Sitting up she squared her dainty shoulders, eyes still closed. Bette crossed back to her mother – in - law's side, settling herself on the woman's bed, her hands clasped in her lap, unsure if touching would help or hurt.

"Please," Elizabeth said softly, "Please do not stop me; I fear I may never start again."

"Take as much time as you need." Another shaking breath.

"Thomas was released from the Tower the day of his execution, the hour the ax was to fall. Three days prior I was informed of… of the date. I went to the King, on my knees I begged. I begged for Thomas as I beg Christ each day for forgiveness. I knew the King's pride was wounded, and the man stands upon his pride as a colossus bestrides the world. When it is wounded he seeks comfort and council in those who flatter him. Your father is no island, he has his enemies and like a tempest they ragged and crashed against him. The king sought to destroy, to punish, to inflict pain beyond pain. That was when I bore Thomas the first of many ills. I told him a martyr's death would be a welcomed death; there is but quick pain in an ax. But banishing him, taking his hobbies, forcing him to be idle the rest of his days – that would be a continuous, living hell. I was so desperate for him to spare Thomas. Thomas is more to me than my own soul; I love him with all that I am. The King asked me how much I loved my husband. 'With all my heart' I replied.

***

"_Then how far would you go to save him?"_

"_Hera's tasks for the Hero Hercules would be no trial for me if it would free my husband." The King replaced his finger with his lips, tongue darting between them to press feather soft to her skin. "Your Majesty!" Elizabeth gasped at the warm wetness of her sovereign's tongue tracing the swell of her breast. First one and then the other. _

"_It is your choice Mistress, Block or Bed?" She felt her jaw drop, her heart stop._

"_Your Majesty I-"_

"_Come to my chambers at nine o'clock, your husband lives, deny me and I will have him _butchered._" Henry spoke rising to his full, impressive height, head and shoulders above the petite Baroness._

"_Your Majesty I-"_

"_You have until nine o'clock Lady Cromwell choose wisely." He smiled cruelly. There was nothing she could do or say. Elizabeth dropped into a curtsey._

"_Your Majesty."_

"_Mistress." He dismissed, when she reached the door he added, "When you come, don't wear anything… complicated." His laughter rang in her ears._

"What, what could I do? On the one hand, if I remained faithful I was as bloody as the ax man, on the other I had… I had to…" Elizabeth took a deep breath, her voice even weaker than before.

"He took me thrice, like a Bitch in heat I was. Over a table… my… my every orifice, there was not a part of me he did not take as his own and on my lips his name."

"_Louder!"_

"_Henry!"_

"_LOUDER!"_

"_HENRY!"_

"When he had his fill of me he tossed me a sheet and called for a Page."

"_Your husband is a lucky man mistress, and he shall live to enjoy you yet. Boy, draw up a commutation for Master Cromwell. He is to be stripped of all his titles, and not even his dead body may return to be put in the family plot. He is henceforth banished, under pain of death never to return."_

_***  
_

"I save my husband by betraying him." Fresh tears over took the older woman and Elizabeth could not keep silent any longer with a disgusted cry she sprang to her feet, the fastest she'd moved in months.

"Betrayed? Betrayed? I do not recall you betraying anyone!" She paced, waddling quickly, angrily, gesticulating wildly.

"I slept with the King! I was with another man."

"You didn't choose to be!" Bette exclaimed, "Block or Bed - that is not a choice! You did not betray anyone, you are not a monster," She rested a hand on Beth's quaking shoulder, squeezing gently; standing before her she offered words of comfort. "Truly, Mother Elizabeth, you did nothing to be ashamed of."

"He hates me." She whispered.

"He does not *know*. And he will not know until you tell him. Tell him everything. You had as much choice in this as if the King had held you down and raped you outright."

For a moment there was silence, Elizabeth's hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, her head hung low. And then slowly, slowly, as if coming back from the dead Beth placed her hand over Bette's. She looked up, eyes glistening with tears unshed earlier, but faintly, deep in their depths, barely distinguishable there was the light of hope.

"How did you become so wise Elizabeth Cromwell?" Bette smiled and squeezed her elder's hand,

"I had a brilliant role model." A faint smile.

"Gregory married a better woman than he deserves."

"You do not give him enough credit, he is your son." His love and support was what made her the woman she was today, tenacity and thoughtfulness all from his tutelage and the example of his parents. "And I must go and speak with him. I will send a servant with a tray up - I want you to eat something."

"I am not-"

"Going to argue with me." Bette silenced her mother - in - law's protest.


	5. The Bette That Roared

The Price

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.

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Chapter V: The Bette that Roared

Bette paused outside the door of her broken mother-in-law's chamber, hand on her heart. That story… it shook her to the very core. It tore her, ripped her soul to shreds. On the hand she ached for the pain endured by her mother. She was battered and bruised. Her dignity ripped from her in a disgustingly violent act. She had lived to see her beloved thrown in jail, lived to see him nearly executed. On the other hand she was angry – furious. Livid. She wanted to find her father-in-law and yell, rant, rave. Scream. She wanted to take her good Lord Cromwell and shake his bony shoulders,

"Open your eyes!" she'd shout. "_Look_ at your wife! She is a shell – at best. Don't you see! Look beyond yourself and you're 'woe as me' selfishness!"

And then there was the King, her brother-in-law… how did she feel towards him? He had so destroyed her family, she wanted to hate him. Yet he was her King, he was the father of her nephew and at one time the husband to her dear sister. Jane had beseeched her to live the King the way she loved him. It had clawed at her then, Henry was a bastard, he had been a horrible husband even if he showered her sister with gifts and affectionate words. And now he rapes…. She had to love her King. She had to… she had to. She shivered.

The King was her King but brother she would no longer call him. He was not the man Jane married. Bette wished for her sister at this moment, her sister was always the hug that saved her; Jane had been the only one to keep a hold on her tyrant husband while she lived. Lacking her darling sister Elizabeth longed for her beloved. His cool logic could calm her. His touch made her whole; his words would mend her soul. She took a deep breath and began to search. She would also need to tell Gregory the truth. This was his mother. He needed to know.

Bette's inner turmoil blocked out all until one voice from a half open door stopped her dead.

"Your mother and I are not as we once were." It was father Cromwell's voice. "She has turned to another."

"No." Gregory breathed.

"No!" Bette screamed. She threw the door open and flew into the room startling her husband and father-in-law at her quaking fury. She was not the docile Seymour sister but the earth had never shook the way it did now.

"Bette." Gregory said, taking her arm, trying to calm her. "Bette, calm yourself – the babe, please…." She brushed him off and stormed across the room.

"No! I will not calm down, not until I am heard! You-" she rounded on her father-in-law, "You know _nothing_, of which you speak! You think she would cuckold you? How little do you think of your wife?" Gregory and Thomas looked at her blankly. Not knowing which expression to pull.

"Bette, child," Cromwell began, half confused, half angry at her interruption. But Elizabeth the younger was so beyond listening. She could not believe her ears – her father-in-law. She had thought so much more of him. He was supposed to be a husband that truly loved his wife. Not like her own father who would go so far as to sleep with his own daughter – in – law if she were pretty enough. Not like her king and brother – in – law who changed wives like he changed fashion, Thomas Cromwell was supposed to love his wife. And love meant respecting her. Love meant cherishing her, love meant trusting her. He was her husband's father, what did this say of her own union. Would at the first sign of trouble think so ill of her? Would he too doubt everything, even the virtues she'd shown up until that point. Would he brand her a lying eve regardless of the truth – because he wouldn't listen, would look? How could they – how _dare_ they judge without trial. All of these thoughts and emotions swirled in her blood and brought her step by step closer to her father – in - law, the good Lord Cromwell, a man a good head taller than her. A man by all accounts she should fear and respect. She came nose to chest with him and growled.

"Have you _looked_ at Elizabeth lately – looked at her. You have seen the bite but have you seen the bruises? The circles under her eyes. The tears coursing down her cheeks – those gaunt sickly, unfed cheeks. Have you noticed that she cannot say Henry's name? Have you watched her – watched her interact with you – with her son. She is scared of a helping hand, scared to be touch – like a horse that had been beaten too much! I doubt it! I doubt you've seen anything outside your own selfish little world, have you spared one thought for anyone other than yourself? Your wife needs you more than anything. Right now and you deny her your love!"

"I LOVE MY WIFE" Cromwell roared, his stoic nature lying in a million pieces as every emotion he'd ever keep from sight exploded from his chest to bellow those words with an anger few even though him capable of. "I LOVE MY WIFE more than anything, even now. How dare you suggest otherwise. You are mistaken child." His tone was deadly. The roar dropping into a near silent fury. His eyes spat daggers at his daughter-in-law, his only living child, his son caught in the middle, though he could physically separate them. Pulling Bette into his arms and across the r0om he could not save either one of them.

"Perhaps I am mistaken in the meaning of love, because you claim you love your wife. Yet I am fairly certain love means that you TRUST someone. If you loved your wife you would TRUST her, you would not stick a pair of horns on your head and brand her an adulterer. You would talk to her – more over you would LISTEN." Bette countered, freeing herself from her husband's arms. Her petite stature remained the same as ever yet she seemed to fill the room. Suddenly the men were very small.

"Have you spoken to your so well loved wife since you walked out of the tower? I know you have not. Because if you had you would not dare say she had broken her vows. You would know the truth. You would know all that your wife did for you and all that was taken from her so that you might walk out of that cell alive and free. She laid down her body so that you might have yours." Cromwell looked hard at his daughter and spoke slowly.

"What do you mean, Elizabeth, 'she laid down her body'?" Elizabeth locked eyes with him; she took a deep, shaking breath.

"The King raped your wife."


	6. Broken

The Price

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.

_Note: The credit for this chapter goes entirely to Kate who sort of stood on me to continue with this story after so long. She was great, really helped flesh out some points. She is my hero.

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Chapter VI: Broken

Thomas Cromwell stared at the grain of the door until it all blended together into one insurmountable wall of brown. He was but a pace from the door, not even an arm's length, he had to simply raise his hand and knock and yet he could not. _The King raped your wife. _Over and over he heard the words, Bette's voice ringing in his ears. He had been so blind. So very blind. His Elizabeth, the love of his life had been hurt in the most unspeakable ways possible. And what had he done? In her time of need he turned his back on her.

He disgusted himself. A single tear rolled freely down his cheek. If only he'd died! He'd willingly die a thousand deaths if it meant she'd never feel pain. Yet he lived! Lived to hurt her himself. There were no words. Tears blurred the world further, the walls and the wood and his shame closing in.

"She used to chase the children barefoot." An aged hand touched his arm gently as an accent from his past spoke. "Climbed the trees as well, back before Hampton Court became Henry's Palace." It was Joan Wynters, tray of food heavy with nourishment resting on her hip, brown eyes studying him seriously. Thomas Wolsey had feared Joan and his children would get lonely without him in such a big house, Thomas Cromwell feared for his wife's safety – a mother alone in Putney, even when they were poor she would be a target. Hampton offered safety; Elizabeth and the children gave Joan company. Their children grew to be very close, as did the mothers.

"Beth and I were best friends, both blessed with beautiful children and husband whom we loved more than anything. We laughed together and we cried. Elizabeth Wyckes Cromwell had a spirit like none I'd ever seen before or since. She used to say it was because you loved her. I was blessed to see Elizabeth in full bloom. I watched her grow, the rose of her cheeks glow, her smile blossom. She has now wilted. That spirit once as mighty as an oak has been broken - snapped in half and burned to ash. You – you have broken her Thomas." She said all this softly without breaking her steady stare. Her unwavering gaze holding his eye and driving each word into his soul like nails.

"I – I didn't mean to." He said weakly, knowing that ignorance was no excuse, no defense.

"You've broken her Thomas, and now you must fix her. You are the only one who can." He nodded. It was funny how the only person who could so utterly hurt her was the same as the only person who could heal her.

"I will try." He promised. Joan shook her graying head.

"Don't try – Do. You are the only one who can."

"I don't see how, what I've done is unforgivable." She squeezed his arm, her brown eyes boring into his.

"When you love someone truly there is no sin that cannot be forgiven and Elizabeth loves you truly, with all her being. She loves you much as I love my Thomas," she crossed herself in memory of her beloved the Cardinal. "She loves you and she needs you." She passed him the tray of food. "Now quit lamenting and _GO TO HER_." With that she knocked on the closed door, the wall between him and his wife.

"It's me, Bess, Bette sent me to bring you a tray. She says I have permission to force feed you if you do not eat on your own."

"Come in." A voice, no more than a mouse replied. It cut Thomas to the bone. That was what his LizzieBeth was reduced to – what _he'd _reduced her to. He felt sick, his knees weak.

"No, no you don't." Joan said opening the door and forcing him through it with a swat. Once he was clear of the threshold she closed the door firmly the key on her belt sealing them together. Dropping the keys back to hang from the ring Joan Wynters looked to heaven. She closed her eyes and listened with her heart, she could hear her husband's mild scolding, that little laugh that occurred when he told her she should not have done something but he was glad she did. _Oh Thomas_ she whispered _help them._

Cromwell entered his beloved's room hesitantly, still racked with the fear that had held him outside of it for so long. He heard the tumblers of the lock shift; there was no turning back now. He looked to the bed, Elizabeth lay on her side, curled tightly in on itself, her blue eyes gazing unseeingly, and the light that once made them glow was extinguished. He studied her eyes open for the first time. Bette, he was nauseated to admit, was right. Liz's gown hung off of her, once creamy fair skin was now sallow, stretched tight over gaunt features. She was broken, he had broken her. He wanted to cry. But he could not, he did not deserve to. Crying was for the injured, for victims, for _humans_. He was too vile to cry. After what seemed like an eternity he gained composure and took a step further into the room, _You've broken her Thomas, and now you must fix her. You are the only one who can._ Joan's words came back to him. He took a deep breath.

"Joan asked me to see that you ate something." He said softly, hoping he did not startle her. Unfortunately his hope was in vain. At his breath she winced and quaked, pulling her legs in tighter to herself and burying her face in her knees.

"Why?" she whimpered.

"Because you need to eat." This was not the conversation that needed to happen, but how did he begin? I am unworthy, please, forgive me; I only destroyed all of the good we ever had with one ignorant selfish action. It was not enough. He was beyond redemption.

"You do not have to stay, I am no longer your wife, you are released from your husbandly obligations." Her words so sad and serious made him shiver.

"Who says that you are not my wife?" he asked, ignoring the voice in his head that screamed _you did, you Bastard!_

"You did – I was unfaithful, I betrayed my vows. I know it, you know it – we both know of my adultery, no man deserves a snake wife, especially not you Thomas. Just go. I release you find another truer than I and marry her. Let me rot." Thomas sat the tray on the table before he dropped it or threw it across the room. His Bess had her own brand of logic but this was beyond the pale. He took another deep breath to keep from shouting, saying something else counterproductive his tongue had done enough damage already.

"Elizabeth," he said softly, "Daughter Bette has told me what-" _the king did to you. How he forced you – raped you. _"told me what happened. Elizabeth, threatening to execute your husband unless you sleep with him is as much rape as if he forced you down himself and took you. You were not unfaithful you were raped – violated." How had he not seen this, not understood? As a lawyer he'd fought for laws protecting women from such violence and strove to provide aid to the victims and yet to his own wife, his very soul, he was cruel.

"But I chose. I chose!" she said it over and over again in her ear she could still hear the King sneer, 'Bed or Block. Bed or Block.'

"It wasn't much of a choice! It was extortion! I've presided over cases just exactly like this one, if he were not the King and I not an exile I would have him for rape. Elizabeth, my love, you did nothing wrong. Oh, that I died that day! I'd rather face the axeman than have you suffer. I am not worth your pain."

Elizabeth didn't understand, he made no sense. First he thinks her a harlot, then a victim he waxes on how he'd rather die than see her hurt. Claims she had no choice, but she had she chose to give herself to the King. She chose to make her sacrifice.

"Thomas, I chose, it was the only way I could save you, even if I lost your love I did not lose you. You are alive even though you are no longer mine." Why was he being so confusing! It was almost like he loved her still, but that was impossible. He'd pushed her away once; she could not bear\ being pulled to him again when she knew it was only temporary. She ended her life to save his, why could she not die alone? Why?

"Elizabeth, I am not worth your sacrifice." There was something about his words, or perhaps it was the emotional turmoil she was in. the fact she was hurt and she was angry whatever the reason a horrible thought lodged in her mind. And suddenly she wasn't sad anymore, she was mad. How dare he? Howe dare he!

"If I had paid money you would have been proud of the price your head brought, but since I paid in purity you claim it was a pound of flesh – the price too high, too extreme. What is the matter is my wholesomeness the only reason you care? Now that I am soiled-" she made no sense but she did not care. Getting to her feet she spoke, spouting nonsense, her anger and her pain driving her words. The shades on her husband's face turning from sadness to hope to horror to ire and frustration.

"NO!" He shouted. "You miss the point entirely. Elizabeth I love you. I will always love you. I had rather die than see you hurt because I love you. This talk of purity is _asinine_!"

"Asinine? You want asinine? Try the fact that you think that I don't feel the same way about you. If you took the block that day the ax man would have had two heads to sever for I would have _died_ with you. I would die for you. Thomas, I love you more than anything, more than life itself and if you truly loved me you would know that – you would understand!" Tears sprang to her eyes. The sob was coming; she choked out her final words before sinking to the floor, broken.

"If you loved me you would not have pushed me away when I needed you most."

Silence.

Thomas could feel all the air leave the room, it was sucked from his lungs, he couldn't go on. Joan had said he could fix her, she did not know that he had destroyed their marriage beyond repair. She did not know what a monster he was.

He'd walked away when she needed him, when she needed him more than anything in this world. It was as if he'd stepped over her body and kicked her as she cried for help. He was here now but it was too little too late. Fresh tears fell.

"I am here now, Elizabeth, though I no longer have your trust, I am for you – forever and always." She looked up at his words, sky blue eyes swimming. He continued, after so many lies and misunderstandings, he was compelled to tell the truth.

"Elizabeth, I love you and in my heart I never doubted you. You are my Angel of Mercy, the only thing that ever made me feel human – to feel alive. My mind was in a dark place, without light or reason. The Tower does that to a man. I went mad, mad just like Mr. Pace before me. It seemed so logical at the time for you to have taken a lover, I had neglected my husbandly duties, I had taken the mistress of work and devoted day and night to her. You deserve to be with a man who cherishes you and I had failed. Now I have truly failed. I have destroyed us. I know it is not enough, not now. But I am here and I will never leave you again." She closed her eyes and his heart sank. _She can't bear to look at you!_ After what he said that night it only made perfect sense that she didn't' want him. He lowered his head, how fitting – she had broken him.

"Oh Thomas." No more than a whisper he doubted his ears. "Oh Thomas, I need you now more than ever." He looked up, their eyes met. Hope, long absent had returned. It was small, it was faint, but it was a light in the darkness.

Joan Wynters silently pressed her ear to the door; she heard no screaming, no crying, and no moaning. It would be safe to unlock the door. She peeked inside. The food tray was empty, the first good sign. The second brought a smile to her lips and a tear of joy to her eye. Thomas and Elizabeth lay on the bed, his arms protectively around her, her head on his chest. Elizabeth Cromwell was sleeping peacefully. Joan retrieved the plates and quietly closed the door, pausing outside to lift a smile to Heaven. _We did it Thomas. _


End file.
